Whirlwind Affair

Chapter 5

God, he hated the sight of blood. Always had. Even as a child. He vividly recalled cutting his foot on a sharp stone when he was six years old. He'd watched the blood ooze from the wound and had nearly passed out cold. The only thing that had kept him from doing so was the knowledge that Austin and William would have teased him unmercifully if he'd swooned like a girl.

One look at Mrs. Brown's hand and the crimson streak of blood now marring her pale cheek, and his stomach turned over. "You're hurt," he said. Damn it all, his voice sounded positively feeble. Why hadn't he felt the blood while he'd pulled her along? Had he caused her further injury? Hurt her? No, he realized. Her right hand was bleeding. He'd been holding her left hand.

Clearing his throat, he reached out and gently grasped her forearms. He eased her hands over, and his lips flattened into a grim line. Even in the dim light he could see that her wrists were rubbed raw. Numerous oozing nicks marred her palms and fingers, but it was the long cut running across her right hand that concerned him the most. A drop of blood dripped off her fingertip, and he swallowed hard. "These wounds need to be seen to. Immediately."

His mind raced. It would take at least thirty minutes to make their way through the labyrinth of streets back to the town house. His own rooms were farther away still. He couldn't stand the thought of her waiting, bleeding, for all that time. Dear God, the woman hadn't uttered a word of complaint and she had to have been in agony. Sympathy crowded him, and he barely resisted the urge to pull her onto his lap and cradle her like a broken child. For God help him, that's exactly what she looked like.

An idea popped into his mind, and he seized it like a starving dog pouncing upon a bone. He signaled the driver, then shouted out a different direction for him.

"A sovereign for you if you deliver us there within five minutes," he yelled. The hack surged forward, nearly tossing him off his seat.

"Where are we going?" Mrs. Brown asked, her eyes appearing even larger and more haunted than a moment ago.

His gaze riveted on the streak of blood staining her cheek. "A friend's home. He lives close by. These wounds need immediate attention." Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his handkerchief, then gently dabbed at her palms. "I'm so sorry… these must hurt terribly."

When she didn't reply, his attention returned to her face, and his heart nearly broke when her bottom lip trembled. "To be perfectly honest," she whispered, "they don't hurt nearly as much as my feet."

"Your feet?" His gaze dropped to the floor, but he could see nothing but his boots and her black skirt.

"Yes. As I'd somehow lost a shoe, and it was difficult to run with only one, I removed it. I'm afraid my stockings provided little protection."

A muscle jerked in his jaw. "Good God. Let me see."

She hesitated for several seconds, then slowly raised one foot. He reached out and gently grasped her ankle through the wool of her skirt. She sucked in a sharp breath.

"Forgive me," he said. He slowly eased the material upward until her foot appeared. He barely stifled the moan that rose in his throat. Hell and damnation. Her stocking had torn completely away, its ragged ends dangling about her delicate ankle. Dirt and mud and God knows what else caked her bare foot. She groaned and his gaze shot to her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips pressed tightly together. There was no doubt she was in pain.

Sympathy and hot anger surged through him. "That fiend who absconded with you will pay for this. I give you my word."

She opened her eyes, and for the space of several heartbeats they silently regarded each other. It appeared she was about to say something, but before she could reply, the hack jerked to a halt. Robert looked outside and saw that they'd arrived at the correct place. "Don't move," he instructed her in a terse voice.

He opened the vehicle's door, then stepped down onto the cobblestone street. Withdrawing two gold coins from his pocket, he tossed them up to the hackney. "Do not depart until we're safely inside," he told the man, who nodded in reply, his eyes round as he stared at the amount of money in his hand. Robert then leaned into the hack and met Mrs. Brown's pain-filled, questioning gaze.

"I'm going to carry you," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Yet she argued. "But I cannot go-"

"Yes, you can. Your injuries need attention, and I'll not risk further harm to you by allowing you to walk. This is the home of my friend, Michael Evers. He is knowledgeable in such matters and is discreet." He fixed her with a penetrating look. "I realize this is out of the ordinary, but so are our present circumstances."

She met his gaze steadily, and he wondered what was going through her mind. He hoped she wasn't going to allow a misplaced sense of propriety to rear its head now. Not after all they'd been through. Tied together… pressed against each other. An image of her flattened against him in the warehouse flashed through his mind and he firmly pushed it aside.

Finally she nodded. "All right."

Without further delay, he slipped one arm beneath her knees, the other across her back. "Wrap your arms about my neck," he instructed, and to his relief she did as he bid. He gently eased her from the hack, then walked swiftly up the stone steps leading to the modest residence. She felt small and soft and fragile in his arms. His heart skipped with a combination of fear and something else he couldn't define when a low groan pushed past her lips while her head lolled sideways, nestling against his neck. A hint of her flowery scent still clung to her underneath the overpowering smells of blood and dockside alleys.

"Hold on," he whispered against her forehead.

When they reached the oak door, Robert pounded upon it with his boot, praying Michael was home. Less than a minute later a palm-sized panel at eye level in the door slid open. "What the bloody hell?" growled a deep, familiar voice, laced with a hint of Irish brogue. "State your name and business, and it'd better be-"

"Michael, it's Robert Jamison. Please open the door."

The panel slid back into place and the door opened. "What the hell, Jamison-?"

Robert pushed his way into the small foyer. "She's hurt."

Michael's sharp eyes raked over the bloody hands, and the feet exposed under her gown. "How bad is it?"

"I'm not certain. She was abducted. Knocked out. Tied up. Her wrists and hands were cut by the ropes and possibly by my knife. Her feet were injured during our escape."

Michael's dark brows shot upward. "Our?"

"I'll explain later. Where can I put her?"

Jerking his head to the left, Michael indicated a short corridor. "Bring her into my study. First door on the right. A fire's already burning and you'll find plenty of brandy. Give her some. There's also a bowl and pitcher of water. I'll get bandages and supplies and join you in a moment."

Robert didn't hesitate. Entering the room, he made directly for the long leather sofa in front of the fireplace and gently laid her down. Then he leaned back, looked at her, and stilled.

He'd half-expected her eyes to be closed, but they were open, looking at him with a steady expression that somehow echoed both fear and strength. Dark hair surrounded her pale face in a matted tangle, with one curl stuck to her cheek by the streak of now dried blood. He reached out a hand that wasn't quite steady and brushed the tangled strand away. Her lower lip trembled, and he brushed his fingertips over her smooth cheek. Something flashed in her eyes. Pain? Fear? He wasn't certain, but he vowed to erase both.

Dropping to his knees beside her, he quickly shrugged out of his jacket, rolled it into a ball, then tucked it behind her head as a pillow. "How do you feel?"

"A bit undone, I'm afraid." She raised her injured hands. "Although I suspect these look worse than they really are. Even the smallest cut can sometimes bleed dreadfully." She stared at her hands for several more seconds, then lowered them once again to her lap. A rueful expression washed over her features. "I'm afraid I do not very much care for the sight of blood."

"Indeed? Doesn't bother me a bit." He cast a quick glance upward to see if he were about to be smote dead with a lightning bolt. "You're in good hands, I assure you. Now, I'm going to give you some brandy. It will help ease the pain. Then we'll get your feet and hands bandaged up." He offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "You'll be running about and will once again be an H.P.P. in no time."

"H.P.P.?"

"Horrid Pianoforte Player."

She raised one eloquent brow. "I believe that is rather like the ocean calling the sea salty."

A grin pulled at his lips and his fingers slid from her face. Her skin felt like velvet, another thought he shoved firmly aside. Clearing his throat, he rose and crossed the room to the decanters resting on a piecrust mahogany table near the window. He poured two fingerfuls into a crystal snifter and tossed it back in a single gulp. Welcome, bracing heat burned down his insides to his belly. He blew out a long breath, poured another portion, then returned to her side.

Holding the snifter to her lips, he helped her drink. After the first sip, her face puckered into a grimace.

"Yeck," she said, turning her face away from the snifter. "What vile stuff."

"On the contrary, I found it to be extraordinary. Knowing Michael, it probably came from Napoleon's private stock."

She turned back to him, her eyes narrowed with clear suspicion. "How would that be possible?"

"Michael is acquainted with people from, shall we say, all walks of life."

"Including scoundrels like you, Jamison," came Michael's deep voice from the doorway.

Turning, Robert watched Michael cross the room, his arms laden with supplies and a bucket of water. He moved like the athlete he was, with a predator-like grace that Robert knew was one of the secrets of his success.

Michael joined them, setting the supplies on the floor. "How do you feel, Miss…?"

"Mrs. Brown," she replied softly. " Alberta Brown."

Michael offered her a solemn nod. "Michael Evers. Glad to make your acquaintance. Now why don't you relax, and Robert and I will take a look at these injuries."

At Mrs. Brown's nod, Michael passed Robert a handful of snowy linen strips with a meaningful look. "I'll take her hands," he said. "You take her feet."

Robert instantly agreed, realizing Michael was assigning him the more intimate task. And hopefully the less bloody one. Rising, he brought the pitcher of water from Michael's desk over to the sofa, then filled two bowls.

Without another word, each man went to work. Robert knelt on the polished wood floor and gently pushed up her skirts until her feet and ankles were exposed. His stomach tightened at the sight. She was a mess, and he prayed that once the filth was cleaned away, he'd discover that that was all she was-merely dirty-and not seriously injured.

He closed his mind to everything but the task at hand. He dipped strip after strip of linen into the water, gently cleansing away the dirt. A sense of amazement rippled through him at what she'd done. Running all that way, over those rough stones and wood, without a word of complaint. She had to have been suffering, and frightened to death as well. Yet even now, when he knew by the tight set of her lips and the pain shadowing her eyes that she was hurting, she didn't utter a word of protest.

He heard the soft rustle of material as Michael folded back her sleeve. "How serious is it, Michael?"

"Wrists are rubbed pretty raw. A fairly deep slash across the base of her right palm. Doesn't need stitching, but it will sting like a bast… er, the devil, for a few days. Everything else is small. Little nicks. They'll sting as well, but heal quickly." He glanced at Robert. "How are her feet?"

Robert looked down at the now clean, delicate foot cupped in his palm. He gently manipulated it around in gentle circles, watching her face for signs of pain. "Some bruising around the ankles from the ropes. A few shallow cuts on the bottom." He checked the other foot and frowned. "There's a good-sized splinter in her heel here."

Allie reclined on the sofa, silent and still, watching as they cleansed and examined her, pretending that she wasn't mortified to have a complete stranger and another man she barely knew tending to her. Once they'd determined that she wasn't seriously injured, Lord Robert tersely related to Mr. Evers how she'd come to be a guest at the Bradford town house, and how he'd returned there for his walking stick only to discover a thief departing the garden, and then realized he'd stumbled upon a kidnapping.

Gratitude and amazement washed through her as she listened. Although Lord Robert had told her as much earlier, now that the danger to them was over and she could think clearly, the full import of his words sunk in. Dear God, what would have happened to her if he hadn't followed? A shudder shook her shoulders and she purposefully pushed the question away. She didn't even want to consider the possibilities. But there was no escaping one certainty: Lord Robert had saved her life, risking his own in the process. And now, within minutes he was going to start asking her questions, wanting answers and explanations he might well deserve but that she wasn't prepared to give.

Opening her eyes, she looked toward the end of the sofa and was met with the most disturbing sight of Lord Robert, head bent low, gently removing the splinter from her heel. He looked big and strong and capable, and a wave of heat shot through her, settling in her midsection. A lock of ebony hair fell forward, hiding his upper face from her view, but she could clearly see his mouth. His firm lips were pressed together with obvious concentration. His touch was tender and gentle and sent pleasurable tingles racing up her legs. He'd rolled up the sleeves of his once pristine shirt, exposing muscular forearms. Her gaze drifted lower, and she drew in a sharp breath. Reddened, angry skin banded his wrists.

His head jerked up and their eyes met, his filled with concern. "I'm sorry… but at least the splinter is out. Did I hurt you?"

"No. I… I just noticed your wrists. You're hurt."

He shook his head. "Scratched. Nothing more." One corner of his mouth pulled up. "Michael will doctor me when we're finished with you."

An inelegant snort sounded from Michael. "What makes you think so?"

"Because I'm one of your best customers. Wouldn't want to lose me."

"Customers?" Allie echoed.

"Michael owns what is arguably the finest boxing emporium in London. And he is, inarguably, the best pugilist in the country."

Allie turned her attention to Michael Evers, who was bandaging her wrist with a gentle deftness that bespoke experience in such matters. His features were bold and possessed a roughness to them, as if they'd been hewn from granite. It was obvious by the crooked shape of his nose that he'd broken it at one time-not surprising given his profession. Nor was the small scar bisecting his left eyebrow. His hair was thick and dark and badly in need of a trim. He was a large man, yet his movements held an almost catlike grace. And in spite of his size, his touch was gentle. With his rough features, husky brogue-flavored voice, and predilection toward swearing, he looked and sounded nothing like a gentleman, yet clearly he and Lord Robert were friends.

At that instant Michael Evers turned toward her, and her face heated at being caught staring at him. Onyx-colored eyes assessed her thoughtfully.

"You're fortunate that Robert returned for his walking stick, Mrs. Brown," he said.

"Indeed I am, Mr. Evers."

"Which brings me to my first of many questions," Lord Robert said. "How did that man get hold of you? Was he in the house?"

Clearly her reprieve from the inevitable questions was over. She drew a deep breath, then said, "No. I was in the garden-"

"The garden?" Lord Robert broke in, his brows lifting.

"Yes. I couldn't sleep. I felt the need for some fresh air."

Their eyes met and she could almost feel something pass between them. Something heated and knowing and intimate. Warmth crept up her neck and she averted her gaze, not wanting to risk that he might read in her eyes that he was the reason for her restlessness.

"I don't know how things work in America, Mrs. Brown," Mr. Evers said, "but you should know that it is unsafe for a woman to be out alone. Especially at night."

"An error I won't make again, I assure you."

"So you were walking in the garden," Lord Robert said, "and he grabbed you?"

"Yes. From behind. I never saw his face. I tried to scream, but before I could get out a good yell he stuffed a rag in my mouth. I remember a pain in my head, then nothing else until I awoke, tied to Lord Robert."

"Did your abductor give you any clue as to what he wanted?"

"No."

Lord Robert turned to his friend. "Your ear is always to the ground, Michael. What do you think? I know London is rife with crime, but still, the audacity to abduct a lady? In May-fair? From a duke's residence? Have you heard of any similar crimes?"

"No. Which makes me wonder if this was a random act or if perhaps someone from the duke's residence was specifically targeted."

A grim expression came over Lord Robert's face. " Austin needs to be informed. I'll write him-" He broke off, then shook his head. "No, I'd best wait and tell him in person. Elizabeth is safe, as I'm certain he's never farther than three paces away from her. And with the baby's imminent arrival, he's already worried. I don't want to unduly alarm him further."

"A smart strategy," said Mr. Evers, "especially considering that it's also possible Mrs. Brown was the intended victim."

Both men looked at her. Allie strove to keep her face expressionless, but was not certain she succeeded. "I cannot see how that could be possible," she said, proud that her voice didn't waver. "No one knows me here. I only just arrived today. I'm certain it was simply an unfortunate accident. One caused by my own stupidity in wandering about alone at night. And one that could have ended tragically if not for Lord Robert's brave intervention." Her eyes met his. "I thank you." She turned to Michael Evers. "And you as well, Mr. Evers, for your assistance."

"You're welcome," Mr. Evers murmured. He watched her for several long seconds, and Allie forced herself to meet his sharp gaze. Finally he resumed bandaging her hands while Lord Robert bandaged her feet. To Allie, the silence felt thick and heavy with tension and she longed to break it. Yet, as she had no wish to initiate a conversation that might lead to more questions, she said nothing.

Several minutes later, Mr. Evers rose. "Finished," he said. "You'll be sore for a few days, but fine." He turned to Robert. "Make sure those bandages are changed once a day. And now let's have a look at you."

Despite Lord Robert's grumbling, Mr. Evers quickly cleaned and bandaged his wrists. "You'll live," he stated. Then, jerking his head toward the corridor, he said, "Let's give Mrs. Brown a moment alone to collect herself. We'll see to transportation to get you home."

Lord Robert and Mr. Evers quit the room, shutting the door softly behind them. Allie closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath. Her wrists hurt, as did her foot where she'd been stabbed by the splinter. And her head still ached, but not nearly as much as it had earlier. All in all, she felt quite well, considering the fact that she could just as well be seriously injured. Or dead.

There was no doubt in her mind that whoever had abducted her hadn't chosen her at random. Between the accidents she'd suffered on the ship and tonight's events, there was clearly someone who wished her harm. But who? The only logical explanation was that the person had to somehow be tied to David's unsavory past. But what did they want from her? She possessed nothing of value. Or did they simply want her dead? A cold chill rippled through her. They'd nearly succeeded tonight. Would they try again?

And tonight, Lord Robert's life had been threatened as well. Her circumstances could be placing him in danger. She should warn him… tell him…

But tell him what? That some unknown person from her husband's shady past might be after her for a reason she could not possibly guess at? Her insides cramped at the mere thought. She hadn't admitted David's criminal past to anyone. Not to her family, or to Elizabeth through their correspondence. The shame and humiliation, not to mention the scandal that would attach itself to her and her family… no, she couldn't tell Lord Robert. She barely knew him. Her life and mistakes with David were none of his or anyone else's business. Besides, she had no desire to become any more involved with Lord Robert than she already was. Sharing her most intimate secrets with him was not something she would even consider.

Intimate…

A shiver ran through her as she instantly, vividly recalled the feel of him surrounding her, his heat and strength as he held her against him, protecting her. At the time, her fright had prevented her from focusing on his disturbing nearness, but now…

A long sigh escaped her. The sort of breathy, feminine sigh she hadn't indulged in for years. Warmth swept through her, kindling a spark she'd ruthlessly extinguished when David died.

A sudden chill replaced the unbidden, unwanted heat, and her eyes popped open. God help her, she was losing her mind. How could she possibly, even for an instant, entertain such… unacceptable thoughts about Lord Robert? He possessed so many traits and characteristics she'd painfully learned to detest and distrust in a man… a friendly, teasing manner that could foster undeserved trust. A handsome face to mask inner dishonor. Warm eyes that hid secrets. Winning smiles to conceal lies. Intense looks and touches that inflamed the senses.

Yet tonight, with his heroic rescue of her, his concern for her injuries even though he himself was hurt, he'd shown a side of himself she hadn't anticipated. And it was a side she did not want to see. She did not want to think of him as possessing any admirable qualities. He was already too physically attractive by far. If she were to like him-

She cut off the thought. Like him? Impossible. So he'd done something admirable. Even the worst sort of person normally had one good aspect to their character. Surely he did not possess any others. Why, look at how he'd known his way around those disreputable sections of London. Surely no decent gentleman would be familiar with such surroundings.

And the company he kept! This Michael Evers was a suspicious character if she'd ever seen one. A fighter by trade, one who obviously mingled with persons of low society. No telling what manner of nefarious business Lord Robert conducted with such a man. Yes, their friendship merely confirmed her belief that there was darkness lurking behind Lord Robert's casual, fun-loving demeanor. Indeed, Lady Gaddlestone's words on board the ship, concerning the transgression in Lord Robert's past, verified as much-a fact she'd momentarily forgotten. But just like walking about in the garden at night, it was a mistake she would not make again.

Robert stood in the oak-paneled foyer watching Michael lean his head out the front door and emit a trio of piercing whistles. Closing the door, he said, "A trusted man will be here within five minutes to take you home."

"Thank you, Michael. I owe you a boon."

"You damn well owe me several. And don't think I won't collect."

"Since I'm already in your debt, I might as well add to my tally. I've another favor to ask you." He paced across the parquet floor. "I'm very concerned about tonight's happenings. I shudder to think what might have happened to Mrs. Brown. I'm afraid I find it difficult to credit that someone in Austin 's household was targeted, yet I'm not entirely convinced that this abduction was random."

Michael crossed his arms over his broad chest and regarded him with an indecipherable expression. "So you think Mrs. Brown was who they wanted, then? Why?"

He shook his head, blowing out a frustrated breath. "I cannot say for certain. But there is something about her manner… I sense fear in her. And that she is hiding something. I felt it when I met her at the docks. Then, this afternoon, when any other lady would have been resting from her journey, she visited an antique shop."

"Seems innocent enough."

"Yes, yet she was decidedly evasive when I asked her about it. She claims she has business affairs to settle on behalf of her deceased husband, which is naturally none of my affair, but she was very secretive. Overly so." He raked his hands through his hair, wincing when he encountered the bump on the back of his head. "Of course, I might be imagining things. I'm so accustomed to Caroline and Elizabeth chattering away like magpies, I wouldn't recognize natural reticence and reserve if it slapped me in the face."

"When did her husband die?"

"Three years ago."

Michael cocked a single brow. "Yet she still wears mourning."

"Clearly she remains devoted to him." For some reason, those words tasted bitter in Robert's mouth.

"Yet that hasn't curbed your interest in her. Indeed, I suspect all this vagueness and secrecy surrounding her has piqued your interest."

He stopped pacing and fixed a glare on his friend. "I'm not interested in her. I am concerned about her. She is my responsibility until I deliver her, safe and sound, to Bradford Hall. You can imagine the hue and cry should I allow harm to befall her."

"Yes. I'm certain that is all there is to it. Now, what is this additional favor you wish to ask?"

"Just to keep your eyes and ears open. You've contacts all over town. If you should hear anything regarding tonight's abduction-"

"I'll inform you at once."

Three shrill whistles pierced the air. "Your transportation has arrived," Michael said. "Shall I carry the lovely Mrs. Brown out?"

Lovely? The thought of Michael's strong arms cradling the lovely Mrs. Brown tightened Robert's shoulders. He shot his friend a chilly look. "Thank you, no. I can handle her."

Amusement gleamed in Michael's eyes. "I'm not certain I agree, but it will be interesting to watch you try."

Allie spent the twenty-minute ride back to the Bradford town house looking out the carriage window in an attempt to ignore her companion.

She failed utterly.

She'd never been so completely aware of a person in her entire life. Even more vexing was the fact that he apparently had no trouble ignoring her. On the two occasions when she'd peeked at him from the corner of her eye, he'd seemed engrossed in his own thoughts, his brows pulled down in a frown, his sight set out his own window.

She could hear him breathing. Slow, steady breaths that she knew raised and lowered his chest. She could smell the faint scent of starch that still somehow clung to his clothing. Could feel the warmth emanating from his body. The memory of the sensation of his body pressed to hers filled her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut to block it out.

When they arrived at the town house, she nearly jumped for joy. Until he announced his intention of carrying her inside.

"You'll do nothing of the sort," she replied in her most prim tone. "What on earth would Elizabeth 's staff think?"

"They're all sleeping. But even if they weren't, you're not wearing shoes."

She opened her mouth to argue further, but he forestalled her by placing a single finger over her lips. "It's four a.m. The servants haven't arisen yet, and the members of the ton who live nearby aren't home yet from their round of parties. No one will see you."

With that, he slipped his arms beneath her, removed her from the carriage, then, holding her close against his chest, strode up the walkway.

She held herself rigid in his arms, refusing to admit for even a second that his touch was comforting. Pleasing. Exciting.

No, it was unwanted. Embarrassing. And the instant he released her, she silently swore that she would never allow him to touch her again.

Opening the door, he strode with her into the foyer, closing the door with a bump of his hip. Then he climbed the stairs, strode down the corridor, finally placing her gently on her feet outside her bedchamber door.

"Shall I ring for a maid to help you undress?" he asked.

Heavens, the man wasn't even out of breath, while she, who had been carried the entire way, could barely catch hers. "N-no. I can manage."

"In that case, I shall leave you. I'll stop round in the morning after I've visited the magistrate to report this evening's events." He looked down at her with a serious expression, and she instantly wished for him to smile or make a jest. His grin had made her heart flutter, but this unexpected, intense look nearly stuttered it to a halt.

Her mouth went dry. She tried to look away from his compelling stare, but could not.

"I'm glad you're all right," he said in husky whisper.

She licked her dry lips. "Yes. You, too."

His gaze dropped to her mouth and her breath caught. For one insane, breathless second she thought he meant to kiss her. She stood still as a statue, terrified he would. Terrified he wouldn't.

But then a lopsided grin eased across his face, breaking the spell. "Quite an adventure we shared. Most ladies I know prefer the opera or the shops. I must say, you proved to be most skilled with my knife." He waggled his fingers in front of her. "Not a single one missing."

Something warm spread through her. Warm and entirely unwelcome. She tried to stop it, but it came just the same. "I owe you my deepest gratitude."

He swept downward in a deep bow. "A pleasure, my lady." He stood and gazed down at her, an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. "This has undeniably been an evening I won't soon forget." His amusement faded, replaced by another intense look that froze her in place. "But you mustn't venture out again without an escort. There are dangerous men lurking all about."

Dear God, didn't she know it. And the most dangerous one of all stood right before her.

"Good night, Mrs. Brown."

"Good night." She entered her bedchamber, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Then, leaning back against the wooden surface, her eyes slid closed and she drew in a much-needed breath. In fact, the first easy breath she'd drawn in hours. He was gone. She should have been elated. Relieved. Surely she shouldn't be feeling… bereft.

Bereft? Nonsense. She was simply tired. She needed sleep. To say that today had been trying was an understatement of gargantuan proportions.

Opening her eyes, she walked toward her bed, anxious to remove her dirty gown and crawl between the sheets. Halfway across the room, she froze.

The wardrobe door stood ajar. She hadn't left it so. Had she?

Slowly her gaze panned the room. Her bed was neatly turned down, but the pillows appeared mussed. And there, on the dresser… hadn't she set her bottle of scent in the right hand corner? Yes, surely she had. But there it was, in the left corner.

Crossing to the wardrobe, then the dresser, she searched through her things. Nothing was missing. Had one of the servants moved the bottle and left the wardrobe ajar? Most likely… when they'd turned down the bed. She pressed her fingers to her temples where the remnants of a headache still lingered. Or perhaps she herself had been careless. Given her distracted state of mind… yes, that was certainly possible.

Still, she couldn't shake the unnerving sensation that someone had searched through her belongings.